


The Devil Really Did Make Him Do It

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crushes, Desire, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Magic, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Crush, Theft, Whipping, breath play, the devil made him do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: Quinn has been nursing the mother of all crushes for months on his fellow hitter.  It's not until he's caught trying to steal from club owner and bon vivant Lucifer Morningstar that he finds the motivation to admit his feelings.Of course Lucifer takes his time giving him said motivation.





	The Devil Really Did Make Him Do It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynne_monstr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/gifts).



> aka "Why Quinn changed his hairstyle."
> 
> I am so grateful to you, Lynne, for giving me the option of pulling from your likes instead of going for a specific prompt - you have no idea. I'm not at all sure what I made here, but I hope you like it!

“What’s with the hair?”

Quinn couldn’t suppress a low hum of pleasure as Eliot carded his fingers through the sweat-soaked strands, leaning instinctively into the other man’s touch even as he asked, “What do you mean?”

He risked a glance, and saw that while it wasn’t causing Eliot any sort of serious concern, the other hitter was legitimately confused. “I’ve never seen it this straight. And it’s either natural or one hell of a straightener because you’ve been here three days and I don’t see a single curl.”

 _”Your world will not be right again, until you find this man and tell him how you feel.”_ Memory stroked him, low and firm, and Quinn groaned softly – feeling himself grow hard again. “Is my hair the only thing you can focus on?” he growled, reaching up to hook a hand at the back of Eliot’s neck and pull him over onto his back. Letting that same hair fall around his face, he leaned down and kissed his lover – making it long, slow, and as thorough as he could.

“Naked man here,” he grinned, once he finally felt like letting Eliot draw breath on his own. Shifting his hips until his erection was brushing against the other hitter’s half-hard cock, Quinn indulged himself in a long, slow drag of skin against skin; feeling Eliot stiffen against his thigh at last. “Naked man who’s ready to fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name.”

“Priorities,” Eliot agreed as Quinn reached between their bodies to take him in hand. “I like that.”  
****************************************  
It wasn’t the first time he’d had a job go south on him. It wasn’t the fifth or even the fortieth. Quinn might have been the top in his field, but when you took as many contracts a year as he did, a few disasters here and there were unavoidable.

He couldn’t even reasonably say that it was the first time he’d regained consciousness to find himself naked and tied up in some fashion, although this was definitely looking to be one of those times where his captors didn’t intend to hurt him…at least not right away.

_At least not in a way he didn’t have a chance of enjoying…_

What was bothering him was the image of red, glowing eyes that lingered in his memory, and a graceful, thin-fingered hand reaching for his throat just before he’d lost consciousness. Quinn thought he might have been choked out, but his neck wasn’t sore and there was no trace of the headache that usually accompanied even an attempted strangulation.

_”What do you desire most in this world?”_

Quinn had gone from confused and disoriented to hard and aching so fast he’d nearly passed out all over again. “Interesting,” the same voice said. “Not money, then…” Impossibly warm fingers trailed down the muscles of his arm, and Quinn heard the click of expensive shoe heels against the marble tile floor. “Maze left you here, thinking you might be an interesting diversion for me, but you really want this, don’t you?

He was tall, with sharp features, dark hair, and night-black eyes. Catching Quinn’s gaze, he lightly scraped his nails across one of the hitter’s nipples. “Don’t you?”

Shivering, as the unexpected sensory input seemed to go straight to his cock, Quinn nevertheless managed a shaky nod. The scene did ping several of his less-than-vanilla fantasies, and in that moment there didn’t seem to be any point in pretending that there weren’t still at least several dozen worse ways for the evening to head.

“Of course, there still is the matter of you trying to steal from me. Maze will take care of your employer, but that doesn’t let you off the hook now, does it?” 

A hand gripped his chin tightly, turning his head first one way or the other. Quinn automatically dropped his gaze as his captor looked him over – unable to maintain eye contact as his thoughts tumbled into a sub-space so deep and profound that he couldn’t muster anything except the desire to give this man anything he asked for.

“I can’t mark a face that pretty,” his captor sighed. “It will have to be a whipping then – maybe draw a little blood, so you remember the lesson once I let you go.” He released Quinn, then tapped him sharply on the forehead. “Eyes up.”

Startled, Quinn looked up – meeting the man’s eyes again. “You agree that you deserve to be whipped?”

Quinn’s eyes blurred briefly with unshed tears as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

His captor frowned. “I don’t like that. Call me Your Highness.” His expression softened then, and he caressed the side of Quinn’s face. “Be easy. Serve me well and you will walk out of here when I am finished with you.”

A sharp, bright thread of adrenaline twisted its way through Quinn’s gut as he began to suspect that even if he wanted to fight his captor’s control, he wouldn’t be able to.

Time slipped. When he became aware of his surroundings again, Quinn was tied spread eagle to a St. Andrew’s Cross. Soft leather caressed his skin; warm and luxurious every where except the chains at his wrists and ankles – which were almost painfully cold. A small flare of fear mingled with the arousal that had him in a death grip now, as he heard his captor moving around behind him.

“Twenty strokes,” the command came. “And if you feel the urge to come before I’m finished, you’d better remember to ask permission.”

“Yes, your highness,” Quinn managed, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek hard against the leather of the cross.

The whip was light and fast, and the first blow was like a knife strike across his upper back. Pain flared hot and bright, fading almost immediately into a dull, throbbing ache. Quinn swallowed hard. It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t endured before…

…but it was also the first strike of twenty.

 _Two…three…four…_ Quinn had learned years ago, at other, less practiced hands, that he enjoyed pain in the right context. Heat bloomed low in his belly – a slow-spreading fire this time that brought every nerve in his body to full, throbbing life.

 _Five…six…seven…_ Groaning, Quinn pressed his aching erection against the padded leather. _I’m not gonna make it._

By the tenth stroke, he could feel the blood starting to run down his back. Frustrated and desperate, Quinn jerked hard on the chains binding his wrists. The silver rattled but refused to yield.

On the fourteenth stroke, endorphins flooded his brain, blinding him to everything except the pleasure. Arching against his restraints, Quinn moaned, grinding his cock into the leather. _So close…_

_Beg, thief. Beg for your release._

His captor’s voice whispered through his mind, and Quinn’s will broke completely. “Please, your highness,” he gasped. “Please let me come.” Tears streamed down his face. “Please. I need it so badly. I’ll do anything.”

 _Eighteen…nineteen…_ “You’ll do that anyway.”

The final stroke never landed on his back. Quinn felt the lash wrap itself around his neck. Before he could draw a desperate breath, his captor crowded in close at his back. “Now.”

Grabbing both ends of the whip, he pulled – squeezing Quinn’s throat until red and black spots began popping in his vision. _No…no, please…_

Hypoxia took him just before he lost consciousness. Quinn’s entire body seized with an orgasm more fierce than anything he’d ever experienced in his lifetime.  
*************************************  
Quinn came to in one of the most comfortable beds he’d ever known, his aching and battered body swathed in red silk sheets. He was being cradled in a pair of strong arms, against a broad, bare chest. Cool, nimble fingers alternated between gently stroking his brow and combing through the tangle of his curls. “There you are,” his captor’s voice purred. “Maze was right – you are fun!”

A small, desperate voice in the back of Quinn’s mind began screaming that he needed to run, to get away, but the bed was so soft, and his captor’s touch so gentle now, and he was so sleepy…

“You are a man of strong passions. Do they have an outlet, I wonder? Some focus for all those feelings?”

The body underneath him began to shift – changing shape, becoming thicker and broader. Callouses on the fingers combing through his hair caught on the strands. “Well, this is interesting.” Quinn’s heart skipped a beat as the cultured British tones softened into a familiar Midwestern drawl. “Not at all what I would have expected from a man like you.”

Turning in his captor’s embrace, Quinn found himself looking up into the eyes and face of Eliot Spencer.

Overwhelmed, Quinn surged up and kissed him.

It was everything he’d fantasized about – rough and passionate, teeth sinking into the swell of Quinn’s lower lip and tugging hard, tongue swirling lines of fire inside his mouth. After several long moments, Quinn let himself be rolled onto his back – the sheets spilling away, and Eliot’s naked form straddling his hips. “You want this, don’t you?” the other hitter asked.

Eyes wide, Quinn nodded. “Please…” His voice was soft, but with a desperate edge to it.

Eliot made a long, slow roll of his hips, letting Quinn know just how on board with this idea he was. Quinn gasped at the contact, back bowing against the mattress. “So needy. So desperate. You’re making me re-think my decision to let you go.”

He slid back then, repositioning himself between Quinn’s thighs. “I’m going to enjoy this.” His eyes briefly flashed red, and for a moment the smile on his face was decidedly _not_ Eliot’s.

But before Quinn could fight through the pheromones drugging him senseless, the image resolved itself and it was Eliot stroking the furled skin of his opening, Eliot stretching him open, Eliot fucking into him in one, long, thick stroke.

“Eyes on me.”

 _In…out…in…out…_ It was slow and huge at first, and almost more than Quinn could take. He took it gladly though – the fulfillment of more than a few late-night fantasies since the last time he and Eliot had been together.

“You will tell this man how you feel.” Eliot leaned in closer, picking up his pace. His gaze met Quinn’s and his eyes glowed red again. Quinn felt a flash of panic, but the new angle had allowed Eliot to brush his prostate with each firm stroke and a fresh rising orgasm kept him from trying to struggle free. Eliot reached down and slowly combed his hand through Quinn’s short, tight curls.

His head grew pleasantly warm, and he was distantly aware of there suddenly being more hair on his head than had been there before – long, straight hair, that he would later see matched Eliot’s style almost exactly. “Every time you see your face in the mirror, this geas I place on you will grow stronger. _Your world will not be right again, until you find this man and tell him how you feel.”_

The warmth faded then, along with the red glow, and suddenly it was Eliot’s face above him again – Eliot’s face beginning to show signs of his own mounting climax. He took Quinn’s aching erection in hand, palming the head at first, smearing the bead of pre-come across the sensitive skin before sliding his grip the length of the shaft.

Pleasure exploded the length of Quinn’s body. Groaning, he arched his body into the next stroke. Two more followed, and then he was coming in a hot, thick spill across Eliot’s fist. “That’s it,” Eliot breathed, and Quinn could hear the strain in his voice now. “So hot, going to pieces like that. Your Eliot is going to be a very lucky man…”  
**********************************************  
Spent once more, Quinn began to shiver. The tangle of sheets that surrounded them now were pale blue instead of blood red, and the man beneath him was not the man who had so recently whipped him to orgasm on a St. Andrew’s cross.

Quinn had also never been happier in his life. “Come here,” Eliot urged, holding him steady as he eased Quinn down beside him. A few minutes of maneuvering put him into the other hitter’s arms, the two of them wrapped snugly in the sheets and a heavy comforter. “You’re crazy, you know that?” Eliot murmured, brushing errant strands of Quinn’s hair back off his face.

The touch on his hair brought Quinn’s thoughts back full circle. “Nah,” he said, laughing weakly. “The Devil made me do it.”


End file.
